The arena is not just where the ride happens.
It is where breath is held.
Where boots press into dirt.
Where families lean against red rails waiting for a name to be called.

This is not about spectacle.
It is about the quiet before the gate.
The dust after.
The way a season lives in muscle memory and calloused hands.

I document what unfolds inside the rails and along them.
The athletes. The families. The in-between moments most people never see.

Because this has never been just eight seconds.
It is legacy in motion.